


Kuuga - The Two Yuusukes

by reallysmallgiantrobot



Category: Kamen Rider, Kamen Rider Decade, Kamen Rider Kuuga
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:56:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2859791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reallysmallgiantrobot/pseuds/reallysmallgiantrobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Godai Yuusuke asks a big favour of his Alternate Reality counterpart, Onodera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kuuga - The Two Yuusukes

There’s a pot of coffee between them.  Behind them, the woman behind the counter is admonishing the man behind the counter for the amount of sugar he puts in his coffee, which is a painstakingly special blend which doesn’t need that much sugar.  He replies that he just really likes sugar in his coffee. 

One of the Yuusukes notices the scene with a quiet smile.  The other does his best to ignore it.

They’d left the Hikari Studio to help accommodate Godai’s discomfort with being around Onodera’s extended “family”; a man who may or may not have been an expert at forcibly transforming humans into monsters, his well-meaning granddaughter, a manipulative white bat-creature, a flighty master thief, any number of transients from all around imagination and at the center of it all: The Destroyer of Worlds.  Godai accepted, gladly, that the Destroyer had changed but he and Godai had a history.  Onodera understood that.  He, also, had faced Decade on a battlefield.  He, also, had “won”.

They’d settled on the Milk Dipper.  One of the Den-Os’ worlds.  Far enough away from Godai’s Tokyo or any of the busier stories which Onodera and his crew passed through.  Best coffee in any world, besides.  Something about it made it just perfect for getting past nonsense.

Godai feels a slight twitch in his right foot.  He tells himself it’s psychosomatic, that it’s anxiety, that it’s not his body’s natural reaction to the presence of another nearly-identical Amadam, that it’s not the back of his head howling for blood in the presence of another thing like himself, a thing which might well be another Grongi or, worse, another thing like Decade. 

The other Decade?

That was how Ichijou had taken to referring to the first incarnation of the magenta-clad parody of a Rider.

Across from Godai is Onodera.  Shorter, younger, happier, and in some kind of relationship with Decade—no, he corrects himself, with Tsukasa.  The lanky man who wore Decade was called Tsukasa.  Godai had to remind himself of that because it was easy—too easy—to let himself fall into dehumanizing words for his enemies.  He didn’t like having enemies.  He didn’t like how easy it was to think of them as _things_.  He didn’t know if it was the Amadam or some hateful, horrible part of his own mind which papered over other people if they were opposing him.

There were reasons he ran from conflict: he knew how easy that sort of thinking was.  You got it into your head that it was necessary and next thing you know, you’re striding across the worlds, trailing enslaved copies of Earth’s Kamen Riders, using powers meant to protect as weapons to create a new humanity. 

His foot itched again, an echo of the feeling of his foot making contact with Decade’s face, cracking the “cards” sticking out of it, the shockwave knocking the other combatants away as Decade seemed to simply stop existing, the shuddering terror as the bloodlust clawed at his emotions and he felt himself ready to turn on the others, felt the darkness well up in him and

Onodera spoons a third portion of sugar into his coffee.  “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Godai shakes his head, glad for the younger man’s voice, glad for something to focus on that wasn’t the memories this tangential proximity to Decade brought out.  “Yeah,” he murmured, shaky hand pouring milk into his own coffee, “I…”

–should warn you.   
–should tell you to kill him first.   
–don’t like that you exist with my name and my power when you’re not me 

“…wanted to ask you a favour.”

The other Kuuga tilted his head a little, curious.

“I don’t like asking; I know you have some… other responsibilities I don’t really understand but—“  Godai licked his lips, surprising himself with how difficult it was to be direct, “—is there any way you could take over being this world’s Kuuga?”

Onodera blinked a couple times stunned, “I’m—I’m sorry, I don’t understand.  Are… are you going somewhere or something?”

“Going somewh—? No, no.  Nothing like that,” murmured Godai through a surge of anxious laughter, “I’m not going anywhere, just…” he met the other Yuusuke’s gaze, “…you seem like you’re _better_ at it than I am.”

“Oh, well…” drawled Onodera with a little laugh of his own, taking a sip of his coffee, “I don’t know about _that_.” He smiled a little at Godai and put his coffee down, “I’ve had a lot of help.  There were _two_ Riders in my world to help with the Grongi and Tsukasa was able to cut their… their ‘murder game’ short before much else could happen.”

Godai scratched at his jaw with an anxious grimace, “I know.  I… I heard about that.  Mr. Ichijou’s collected a lot of information about the other Riders and…” he worked his hands, trying to find words.  It was a massive thing he was asking and he knew it. 

“Mr. Ichijou?” repeated Onodera curiously before seeming to connect the name with the face, “Oh!  The detective with the guns?”

The elder Kuuga smiled fondly in spite of himself, “That’s one way to think about him, yes.  He’s a good man.  He...” he looked for the words for a few moments before deciding on, “he understands what we go through.”

Onodera’s smile faded some, “You two are… close?”

“I love him,” Godai replied.  It was a hard thing to say sometimes, to just speak something that massive and private.  Ichijou wouldn’t approve.  But it was true and if you couldn’t be honest with someone so like yourself, who could you be honest with?  “Deeply.”

Onodera nodded a little, “So… do you want me to take over so you two will have more time together?  That’s…”

“No.  No, that’s not it at all,” Godai leaned forward, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup.  “It’s a welcome bonus but the fact is that I’m not… I’m not cut out for being a Rider.  I don’t know if there needs to be a Kuuga in this world but I just don’t want it to be _me_.”

“Not cut out for it?  But didn’t you beat your world’s ultimate darkness?”

Godai’s jaw tensed.  Hearing the phrase uttered so casually put him on edge.  “I beat Number Ze—I defeated a person named Daguva.”  The words were chosen slowly, carefully.  The way you said a thing changed the way you thought about it.  He and Ichijou had stopped Daguva.  Neither of them talked about what had happened on the mountain, about the time he lost, about coming to and seeing Ichijou standing over him, loading new bullets into his revolver with the mechanical precision he loved in the man.  After he returned from his recovery trip to Mexico, not talking about it just become a habit; one both of them knew about but neither mentioned.  “I didn’t ‘beat’ the darkness.  I pushed it back.  I contained it.  But it’s not… it’s not _dead_.”  He pulled one of his hands from his coffee cup, not noticing the way his hand left a faintly glowing impression in the sturdy ceramic, and brought it down to touch the top of his waist, “It’s _here_.”

“The Amadam?” Onodera looked down at his own waist, “The darkness must’ve been a different thing for you.” 

“So you’ve never… never felt the _pull_ of it?”

“Of what?  Of the Amadam?  I don’t… I don’t know what you mean.”

Godai stared at the other man blankly for a few moments.  He wasn’t sure what to say to that.  How did you explain the fearful way violence bent someone’s heart to someone who didn’t know it themselves?  How did you explain the darkness that started somewhere deep inside, that the Amadam fed on it until Kuuga embodied it fully: armour that devoured light with flaming violence seeping out of every pore.

“When,” Godai began after a moment of curious silence between them, “When you become the... the complete Kuuga.  The... the _real_ Kuuga.  The Darkness.  Don’t you... don’t you _feel_ anything?”

Onodera’s brow furrowed, “Do you mean the black form?  The five-horned one?  With the fire and all that?”

The fire and all that.  Godai almost laughed.  He took a sip from his coffee and nodded.

“No.  I mean, I feel _stronger_.  I feel the fire and the lightning.  I feel the power of the Rising Ultimate form getting ready to come out, but...”  Onodera shrugged, “No, nothing like that.”

“’ _Rising_ Ultimate’?” the idea of giving that thing a name, let alone one so frivolous, felt wrong somehow.  A part of him, something he didn’t want to put a name to, was excited at the thought; the golden power applied to the devouring flame?  Not only replacing the waters of the holy spring with flame but with lightning as well?  “I... I can’t even imagine.”  He tilted his head a bit, looking the other Yuusuke over, “How did you become it?”

“Tsukasa’s sister, Sayo.  Wanted to use me as a weapon to try and destroy her brother.” Onodera did laugh at that, sipping his coffee and shaking his head, “Didn’t need to.  Eventually, I did that anyway.  Sorta.  Why do you ask?”

“So it was done _to_ you.”

“Yeah.  And then once I knew how to make it work... I just figured out how to do it myself.  It was scary the first time but after that...”  Onodera watched Godai for a moment.  The other man had gone pale.

“With no...  Wow.” Godai realized he was shivering.  He took a sip from his cup.  He realized it was boiling, that he should be hurt, that his human form should be soft and vulnerable.  But if there was any damage, it healed by the time he realized it.  If something that burned as hot as he did even _noticed_ the scalding heat.

“Was it different for you?”  Godai felt Onodera watching him, felt the other man’s concern wafting off of him.  It was like Tsubaki’s after every physical; concern, confusion and a very certain kind of being unsure.

“Yes.  I... I had to _become_ it.”  Godai began rubbing at one hand, opening and closing a fist, probing at his palm.  The memory was frightful.  The knowledge that it was inside him was even more so.  The rush of power, of senses attuned to everything on Earth nearby.  The giddy knowledge that he could split the world in half with the proper motion of his foot and the hateful thing clawing at the edges of his consciousness, the thing just begging him to _do it_.  The power of the great, empty eyes that haunted his dreams begging to be released because it knew what he knew: that the power over life and death were his, that he was untouchable, immovable, inviolable—a god, a titan, a figure of myth to be appeased and which _could_ not be appeased.  His jaw worked anxiously.  “That’s why I’m asking you for this.  The darkness isn’t like the sword or the staff I can just _do_ , it’s always...”

Onodera watched Godai’s face for a moment before, carefully, reaching out to place his hand on Godai’s, only to jerk it back with a stifled yelp.

Godai frowned and closed his eyes, “Sorry!  When I get worked up, it just...” he inhaled and the heat shimmer around his hands dissipated.  “Sorry.”  He hadn’t counted on the other man wanting to touch him.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Onodera replied with an anxious laugh as he waved his hand a little while he waited for the Amadam to do its work repairing the flesh of his hand.  Godai could see that it hurt—a lot.  It made it hard for him sometimes but he had more self-control around Mr. Ichijou.  Ichijou made it easier.  Ichijou ate, slept and breathed control and being around him was soothing in a way few things had ever been for Godai.  They were relaxed around one another and knowing Ichijou—too frail by half despite his rigorous attention to his physical fitness—couldn’t heal and wouldn’t ask more of Godai than he thought Godai could give... well, it made things easier.

Onodera was an unknown quantity and having to ask so much of an unknown, an unknown which spent so much time with a monster—no, with a man Godai had once fought.  Doubly unknown and that wasn’t even touching on the Amadam’s quiet demand that he beat the other Kuuga to a bloody pulp.

But there was nobody else to ask.

He’d ducked out on Ichijou when he realized the Hikari studio was back.  Ichijou had been against this.  Asking one of Decade’s people to take over for Kuuga, to let one of Decade’s people stand between the would-be Grongi of the world and smiles of people just trying to live their lives was incomprehensible.  Being strong for the sake of others wasn't something you could just _ask_ of someone nor trust just anyone with a transformation belt to do.

But after the Decade War which pit Godai and the other realized Riders against the potential Riders who followed Decade, against versions of themselves, Godai realized he didn’t want to go there again.  He felt what he could become in such a conflict.  He’d fought a small army of Grongi, a couple rogue Agito, monster-people of every description when he’d had the bad luck to cross their path in his travels around the world. 

It only made him harder.  Made it harder for him to reach out to people, made it harder to trust.  Knowing, on top of everything else, that if anything massive came up, he’d have to lean into the Amadam, once again have to armour himself in domination, intimidation and physical violence, all the things he’d come to hate in himself.

“It’s not okay,” murmured Godai, willing his body to cool down, trying to tap into calmer emotions, feelings the Amadam didn’t feed on, “It keeps coming but being Kuuga is in my blood and I don’t know how I can stop if I still feel like I’m responsible—if I’m always waiting for the next Rider War.”  He let out a heavy sigh and rested his face in his hands for a moment, “I don’t know how you do it.”

Onodera’s brow furrowed and he reached out again to squeeze the other man’s shoulder.  “Hey.  Hey, it’s okay.”  Godai looked up for a moment and Onodera smiled a bit, offering the man a thumbs-up.

Godai laughed.  It was a painful sound.

He kept laughing until it became something else, something low and choked and ugly and Godai hid his face in his hands again.  Onodera gave the young man and woman behind the counter an apologetic look.  The man looked away.  The woman smiled sympathetically and held up a freshly-brewed pot of coffee, a question in her expression, an offer.  Onodera shook his head.

The laughter or sobbing or whatever it was died down and Godai sighed, “I just don’t know how much more of this I can take.  Mr. Ichijou helps, my _family_ helps but I’m just not cut out for this.  I don’t know how to be a Rider, I don’t know how to be Kuuga.”  He looked up at Onodera and wiped at his eyes, “But you... you seem like you _do_.”

Onodera tried to find words.  Finally he let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair.  “Nobody knows how to do this, Godai.  I had my head all wrong about it from the start, fighting to make one person smile instead of... instead of everyone else.  I had to figure it out and after she died, I...”

The pair of them were silent, slumping down in their chairs.

Onodera leaned forward first, rubbing at his face.  “I don’t... Mr. Godai, I can’t stay here.  I live across the worlds.  Sometimes I’m whole _worlds_ away.  I don’t think I can properly take over for you.”

“I... I know that, but.” Godai sighed and ran a hand over his head, “I just want _out_.”

Onodera chuckled a little and picked up his cup, “We should have gone to a bar for this sort of talk...” There was a little shrug and he met Godai’s gaze, “And I know that you feel responsibilities but...” he let out a sigh, “I’ll try to keep an eye out and if your world needs something, I’ll drop in.”

Godai nodded and let out a long, shuddering sigh, “Thank you.  I just... I need it to not be all on me.  I know there are other Riders, I know there are other worlds and people like Tsuk—“ he cut himself off before smiling at Onodera, “There’s just a part of me that’s always felt I could trust you.”

“Are you sure it’s not just that our guts want us to tear each other apart?”

This time they both laughed.  It wasn’t quite happy laughter, but it had a necessity to it that was hard for either of them to ignore. 


End file.
